The Death of Me
by queendraconis
Summary: What happens after The Great Game between Moriarty and Mycroft.


Set just after The Great Game, in which Mycroft saves the day by getting rid of Moriarty's minions, including the snipers, and shoots Moriarty with a tranquilizer gun from behind (I LIKE WRITING ABOUT TRANQUILIZER GUNS OKAY?)

Disclaimer: I own neither the characters or the context; they belong to the marvellous Arthur Conan Doyle, and the BBC, The Moff and Gatiss.

Jim's unfocused eyes opened to find him knelt on the floor beside the pool with his hands uncomfortably handcuffed behind his back. He felt frustrated as he watched the scene before him play out. It would appear that the Holmes brothers and Sherlock's faithful Labrador were going to just leave him here. They weren't even going to give him the dignity of handing him over to Scotland Yard. Of course Sherlock knew that he would be able to escape from any cell the police put him in, but if he thought that leaving him handcuffed here would make any difference then he was a fool.

He watched with disgust as the two friends left together, John turning around to glare at Jim one more time before he left. Jim simply laughed. It was similar to receiving a death threat from a harmless kitten.

Mycroft watched his brother and John leave and knew that they would be safe for now. His personal driver would take them directly home, and then he'd have at least two men guarding their house at all times. He would have to find a way to keep his brother from finding out about that, of course. Sherlock would never approve of being cared for.

"Are you going to just leave me here, Mycroft?" Sounded a distinctive voice from behind him.

Mycroft turned with deliberate slowness; an action that showed confidence and intimidated most men. Moriarty was not one of those men. "Now how do you know my name?" Mycroft enquired with a smile on his face. His speech had taken on the same characteristics of his movements; paced and self-assured.

"Sherlock isn't the only Holmes whom I take an interest in. _Your_ work is rather impressive" Moriarty spoke in way that only he can; with arrogance, overconfidence and a hint of insanity.

"Quite"

"You never answered my question" Jim remarked with impatience. "I answered yours. I think one good deed deserves another"

"Hmm. Is that what you think?" Mycroft laughed. "Well I did in fact intend to leave you here" he admitted with a smirk. "However, if you're afraid of being alone, you could always return to my house with me" Mycroft's smirk became even more pronounced.

"And what exactly would you do with me when I was there? Torture me?" Moriarty sniggered. The idea of Mycroft Holmes torturing him vastly amused him. Nobody was able to get a hold on Moriarty, let alone inflict pain upon him. The idea was laughable.

"If you wish" Mycroft laughed as Jim's face fell and a serious, yet contemplative expression was left in place of the smirk that had been infuriating Mycroft ever since it took up position on his face.

Jim looked at Mycroft and tried to work out whether he was being serious or not. The smile that Mycroft was now wearing attempted to draw away Jim's concentration; he couldn't figure out whether he was smirking because he was in fact being serious about what he said or whether it was because he was enjoying seeing him squirm.

Truthfully Mycroft was rather enjoying the mental image of having Moriarty handcuffed to his bed; a scenario that was beginning to play itself out in full inside his head. He regained control, an art that he had much practise in, and spoke.

"I assume that you expected a different response"

"I always thought that you would be as uptight as dearest Sherlock"

"Hmm, did you now.." Mycroft considered the characteristics of being 'uptight' and found none of them to match the character of his brother. He assumed that Moriarty was just impeccably imperceptive.

"Well, it's been lovely chatting with you, but I'm afraid I'm a rather busy man" Mycroft spoke, with an overly polite tone of voice "I do have an awful lot of business to attend to"

And with that he turned his back on Moriarty and began to walk towards the exit.

"Oh come on, Mycroft. You know you're not going to leave"

"And why is that?" Mycroft stopped as he queried; amusement evident in his voice. His back was still turned to Moriarty and his eyes were staring into space.

"Because you want me" Moriarty purred. "I can see it in your eyes" He said, raising his eyebrows as he emphasised 'your eyes' and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Is that so?" Mycroft asked as he once again turned towards Jim.

"Oh yes" Moriarty winked. "And we both know it's true, so be a good man and come here and un-cuff me"

"Oh, I don't think so" Mycroft laughed and twirled his umbrella absentmindedly. A minor part of his brain acknowledged that he hadn't laughed as much as he had tonight for a very long time.

"I said come here. I warn you, Mycroft, I'm not a patient man"

"Nor am I" Mycroft smiled

"Well then. Come here. Now!" He ordered with a devilish smirk that said he knew he would always have his own way.

Mycroft knew, right there, that Moriarty would be the death of him. Moriarty, too, thought that Mycroft would be the death of him. Neither knew that they would find, in the other, a way to feel very much alive.

"Besides" Moriarty laughed as Mycroft began to advance towards him "I'm sure that umbrella of yours has more than one use"


End file.
